The Morning After
by GingerRoseLee
Summary: Joss and John are vulnerable, adorable, and sexy after spending an impromptu night together. A/U. Any season you like before or after S3. After "Return 0" I think a little Careese love, wherever it's set, is fitting vengeance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A sort-of short. When you have an hour or so between tasks. Enjoy! More fun for John and Joss. Because Lord knows, after this week's crappy finale (did you see it? Argh!), they need it! Thanks, guys. Wellness!**

Daylight. Joss rolled over, awake then, to stare at the back of John's head. He was still asleep, the only sound of life coming from him was the steady, yet surprisingly quiet, snores he made, as well as the rise and fall of his side as he breathed. His broad back, slightly freckled near the shoulders, and moled near his waist, obscured her view of the alarm clock on the night stand. So she continued to stare at the back of his head, at his hair; the soft and downy dark hair, peppered with gray, was unruly and unkempt, testament to the ways she had run her fingers through it and grabbed at it as they worked out their passions the night before.

It was a marvel how strange life could be, how it could throw people of the most disparate circumstances and walks of experience together—and how those people could end up together in a bed like this. There had been little to suggest that this man would land himself in her arms, in her bed, between her thighs, when she'd found him sitting in her interrogation room that night. He was a bum, a man hellbent on killing himself for a life wasted and betrayed, when he came to her, after having ahd a fight with some punks on a subway. He was tight-lipped, secretive and reserved, of course—but not unkind. He had done bad things, yes. But he was not evil. No, not this man.

She'd sensed that right away. She'd also sensed that he was fighting a war inside himself, some intense battle the depths of which she could only stab at. But she knew he was good. She could tell that about people right off the bat. It was probably why she'd become a cop. The good and the bad were easy for her to spot. And the bad needed dealing with so as not to tarnish the good.

But now, he was in her bed, still and snoring. They'd had a heady night in one another's company. An argument about a case turned into something else: sexual passion. She didn't know who made the first move. She couldn't remember. And it hadn't mattered anyway. All that had mattered was the touch of flesh; the tearing of clothes and the buttons flying; the darting and dueling of warm, wet tongues; the slide of lips. All that either of them would remember was the noise, the sounds that threatened to consume them both as they expressed their need out loud; that, and the thrusts of lusty desire that John initiated, but Joss soon begged for.

He was a damn tease in bed, she thought, with a smirk, knowing how much she mewled and cried for his love once that need had been unleashed. But he wanted to control that much, at least, the amount of time he could make her do that before he had to give into his own craving to have her. Neither one of them had the upper hand in the face of such desire. Both of them were stunned at how strong it was, how amazing, and how good. And both were at the mercy of its conclusion, the rush and fury to consummate.

She smiled and slowly reached out to stroke his hair. He had beautiful hair. So thick and soft. She wondered what it would have looked like when he was younger, perhaps in his twenties. Would he have had a mullet like a lot of white boys did back then? Long hair like a hippie? Or was he primed for the military from the start, going for the crew cut and nothing else? She tried to picture him with all three looks, and decided she liked the idea of him with long hair. When she got a chance, she'd ask him. Maybe he might even have a photo of himself somewhere, from that time in his life. Then again, knowing John, that was doubtful. But it couldn't hurt to ask.

As her fingers got lost in the thick hair once again, he stirred, with a groan. Turning over on his back, he gave her the treatment of his face. Such a handsome face. His eyes remained closed, and she could study the hooded lids, long, sooty lashes, and slightly crooked nose. He needed a shave; she could see the stubble taking over his face, the bristles shaded dark and and white, as was the hair on his head. This man, who had killed countless people, who knew all the tricks of the trade for mayhem, death and destruction, was just a man, really. He was a vulnerable, sleeping man, at peace, for only a little while, in her bed with the dandelion sheets and pillow cases. She marveled again at how life was so full of contradictions.

Joss decided she should leave him alone and let him sleep. She was sure it wasn't often that he got to sleep in like this. She didn't have to be at the station for another few hours, so that was all fine. Perhaps when he woke up, he'd stay for coffee and a little breakfast. And she hoped he wouldn't be weirded out by what had happened between them, now that it was the morning after. She certainly wasn't. In fact, if it were never to happen again, she'd be sadder than she ever thought possible.

But she wouldn't pressure. One thing on this earth she'd never do would be to pressure John Reese into doing anything. A lady caught more flies with honey than vinegar.

As she moved to turn away from him and back to her own pillow, a hand slowly reached up to stop her, gently catching her wrist and running his thumb back and forth over it. He refrained from opening his eyes, and he lightly rubbed his belly and chest with the other hand.

"Hey," he exhaled sleepily. "Good morning."

"Good morning, John. Sleep well?"

"Umm hmm...I did. What time is it?"

"Just a little after seven," she replied, now that she could see the clock again.

He let out a deep, silent yawn and stretched. "You know, I had the most amazing dream," he said when he recovered his breath. She felt an electric current shoot through her body at his sleepy voice. It was deep and resonant, not at all the way he sounded during the work day or on the burner phone—though that voice had its own special lilt to it.

"Did you, now? What about?"

His eyes remained closed, but he licked his lips and allowed a toothy smile to creep across his face before he spoke.

"Well...there was...uh...this beautiful black woman with a badge and a gun who I thought was going to arrest me, but she didn't. She just...smiled at me. She had the most amazing smile...and she looked a lot like you. Hmmmm..." he hummed. He continued to smile, but this time he opened his eyes. They twinkled with the mists of dreams and mirth in their sea-green depths.

"Oh, well, I'm glad to have been of service. And you should be glad I didn't shoot you," she grinned.

"Yes, you were. Very much so. Hey, smile for me now?"

Joss not only smiled, she giggled for him, ear to ear, as he pulled her towards him for a kiss. His lips were soft and not demanding at all, and she liked this, liked this easy way about him waking up to her.

"I need to get going, Joss," he said, running fingers through her own messy hair. His eyes were closed again after their kiss, but he kept fooling with her hair.

"Okay," she said softly. "You have time for some coffee before you go? I was going to make a fresh pot."

"You on duty today?"

"Yeah, but it's an evening shift. Not until one."

"Hmm, maybe I should just get out of your hair and let you get some more rest. That'll be a long night, Detective."

"I've had longer, and on less sleep. Don't worry about me."

"Sorry. Sort of a bad habit I've picked up. Worrying about you."

"I'm okay. But thank you."

"I really should get going. Need to get home and take a shower," he said, with a sigh and a rub of his hand across his forehead. He then opened his eyes and looked square at her. "You okay?"

She was disappointed that he wasn't going to stay, but she tried to hide it. Maybe she wasn't doing so good of a job of it.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, trying to avoid those sea-green eyes that weren't letting up so easily. John was the perceptive sort, too; he studied her face intently for at least a few more seconds before letting it drop and looking around the room, noticing the curtains, the sunflower-patterned bedding, and the alarm clock.

"Just making sure. Anyway, yeah, I gotta go."

"You'd think I was an ogre or something," she said quietly.

"An ogre? Why?"

"Well, with the way you keep saying you have to go and all," she said with a slight pout. She couldn't help it. They had had great sex, amazing, primal sex the night before—and all he could talk about now, besides his dream, was how he had to get going.

He turned back to her, studying her face again, before raising a hand to stroke her face and tangle his fingers again in her dark hair.

"An ogre? Never, Jocelyn Carter. You are no ogre. What you are...is a beautiful, sexy, passionate woman, who made a normally grumpy man very happy last night."

She stared back at him, demurely. "You sure?"

His expression changed from that of an amused teenaged boy to that of a man—a man who knew what he wanted, and whom.

"Yes, I'm sure," he murmured. "Very happy. Extremely satisfied. In every way."

"Right. Okay. I'm glad. Because you did me too. Made me happy."

"Good. I'm glad too. You know, I wouldn't have thought it mattered to you, Detective."

"What?"

"This. How I might feel about it, react to it. To you."

"Why not," she asked, the crease in her forehead showing.

He chuckled. "Because you aren't like many other women, Joss. The Cosmo magazine types who obsess over what men think. You just keep it moving."

"You'd be surprised, John."

"I am surprised. But it's all right. It's very sweet, actually."

"It is?"

"Yes. And so are you. Very, very sweet..."

He let that one trail off on a kiss to her cheek with ended on her neck. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, letting the sensation fully hit her in all the places it would. He did it again, but this time reached up to find her nipple and began to fondle and tease, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. She moaned and tilted her head, arching her back. The soft noises she made emboldened him to dip his head lower to find the other nipple with his mouth. Joss' whole body writhed in a renewal of the passions he'd elicited the night before. He teased on two fronts, his fingers and his mouth, and before she knew it, she was on her back again, against the sunflower pillows, her legs spread and him atop her. John hadn't relented on her nipples, but now he was using his teeth to lightly nip and pinch, which sent her into a tailspin.

"OH!" she cried out. He wasn't going anywhere. She wouldn't let him, not when he did things to her like that. She really would shoot him if he left her there like that.

But she had no worries there. He was as out of control now as she was. When he covered her with his body and her fingers dug into his back, he was done for. With a gasping groan, he pushed her thighs even further apart, her wet sex hot and exposed for him, just for him. And with the grunting roar of the beast, he mounted her in one thrust. She cried out again, her mouth open, the gasps and moans in his ear loud, hot, and sweet. She grabbed at his hair, and their eyes met as he began to move inside her.

When his speed increased and his pelvis slapped into her body, they muttered words of desire to one another, louder, faster, higher until John groaned and grabbed the bed post to drive her fully home. He squeezed his eyes shut, bit down on his lower lip, and scooped her up into his arms as she rode out the last of his release. But they weren't done. John knew that Joss was close, but not there yet. And he wouldn't leave her without the blissful sweetness of her own orgasm.

"Come here," he said breathlessly. Pushing her down backwards on the bed sideways, he hitched her thighs up and buried his head there, latching onto her love bud gently, teasingly before including his tongue, while he ran his hands up and down her body, head to toe. Her legs bent in the air, he fondled what he could reach, which was more than good enough for her.

Joss inhaled sharply before exhaling on a moan. "Ohhmmm, John...you do that so...sooo good...ohhmmm, like that...yes...love my clit...ooohhhh..."

"I do love it, Joss. Every bit of it. You're fabulous," he murmured against her skin.

He continued his attentions, lapping and licking, flicking and circling until she was out of her mind with what he was doing.

And then, with the steady pinch and caress of her nipples, she was soon done. The explosions were like fire lights setting off all over her body. She felt in her hot space, but not only there. She also felt it in her belly, her thighs, her neck. Her hips writhed seductively, the pressure of her movements making the bed creak.

"Oh, yes, John...oh, yesss...yesssssss...oooohh..." she gasped repeatedly, softly, a smile breaking out between gasps. Her head slowly turned side to side as she rode out the sensations in her body.

"Hmmmm," John purred in manly satisfaction. "Very nice. You taste delicious, Detective. You sound delicious, too. It's so good."

"That was...better than good. That was amazing, John..."

"Agreed, Detective." He rose up on his haunches, a look of self-assurance across his face that she found incredibly sexy. He never took his eyes off her as he moved up to her mouth to kiss her. She could taste herself on his tongue and he was right: she did taste delicious.

"Sweetheart...I don't want to, but I really do have to go. And, despite how much of a bad ass detective you are, I don't like the idea of you not being rested for work. You should get some more sleep if you can," he said when he'd finally gotten his pulse under control.

"Right. You're right. It is better if I've been able to sleep. But can you still stay for a cup of coffee? Might help with the drive."

"Okay. One cup."

"Maybe a little toast too?"

He chuckled with a wide-eyed smile. "Toast, too? Oh man. I'm getting the royal treatment, aren't I? And I thought this here was the big prize."

"Well, you've never had my toast, so hold that thought," she said.

He kissed her forehead and nuzzled her neck with his nose. "I never had you either, before last night. But I'm very glad I did. I think the same could be said for your toast."

She grinned again. What was it about him that made her laugh so much? "All right, well, let me get up and get it started. You...get dressed. I don't think I popped too many buttons on your shirt."

"I didn't notice. Well, I can go in my tee-shirt if so. Don't worry."

"Sure, John. Getting up now."

"Joss?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you, lady."

"You're welcome. Hey, maybe we should argue more often?"

"I have better ideas."

She smiled, but didn't reply. She just hoped that she'd get to find out what those 'better ideas' were soon—very soon.

 **A/N: I tried to make this a drabble, but I don't do those very well (far too many ideas floating around in my head), so forgive me. Any ole way, I hope you enjoyed this one—and the other stories have new chaps coming (just not sure how long they will take to finish). Happy weekend!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Continuations on this fic; in this chap, John, after a few scarce weeks since their encounter, has something on his mind where our favorite Detective is concerned. Enjoy!**

He had left three messages on her burner phone before she had had a chance to sit down and answer him. And he didn't let such a detail slip by her when she finally did return those calls.

"I was starting to feel slighted, Detective. Not like you not to take my calls. Nor not reach out on your own end. You okay?"

She laughed softly, despite herself. While she hadn't been avoiding him, she hadn't called him on her own either. And it wasn't like he'd been all that available, over the past couple of weeks since their night together, to reach out and touch someone himself. She just figured she'd hear from him when she did.

"Sorry. All caught up in the Winslow case here. This one gets stickier each lead we uncover. Wish we could find the road that leads to solving it."

"Finch may be able to help. Send me the details of what you got and I'll get them over to him."

"Okay. Will do. I still feel a little self-conscious about all this cloak and dagger stuff, you know. I'm the detective. I'm supposed to be able to figure this stuff out myself."

"No worries, Joss. We can all use a little help from our friends."

"My friends?" she asked, loaded, rhetorical question it was.

"Of course. Your friends. Unless you were looking for someone else." His voice had gone down a notch and in its breathy perfection was doing things to her nerves he'd never believe.

"No. Everything's A-OK with my…friends. So, what's up?"

He paused for a beat before speaking, as if he was mulling over just how to say what was on his mind. But then, just like that, he was out with it.

"I hear that you have a rare two-day weekend coming up, Detective."

"Oh, really? Where did you hear that, John?"

"I have my sources, Joss," he said. She could see the smirk in mind's eye, and it made her smile, as his voice continued to make her blush.

"Oh, do you? Well, your sources would be correct, Mr. Reese," she replied, now going off down the hall to find a quieter, less intrusive place to continue her phone call. The atmosphere, already charged any time John called her, was ten times that, now that she figured the conversation had suddenly gone a different course. Lionel, who sat across from her, and always seemed to have his dog eyes on her face, was there, as usual, and as usual, had his dog eyes on her face. His attempts at being discreet were so lame they were laughable.

"I do. And as it turns out, I also have a rare free weekend. So…."

"So…what?"

"So…why don't we spend some of that together? You know, it's been a while since we last sat and talked over a cup of coffee…and toast."

So he hadn't forgotten. She had been worried that he had. After two weeks of little to no contact after their night together, as work and the demands of motherhood for her oddly enough took them to separate places, she figured for him that it was just an event, just something that happened and that it wouldn't again. Not being one to mope and wait on any man, she let it go, too.

But now, he was the one bringing it up. And he had been the one to try and get in touch with her after the long stalemate. She couldn't help but chuckle to herself. It was nice to think that she had gotten under his skin.

"Umm, okay, John. What'd you have in mind?"

"Well, there's a Jimmy Stewart retrospective double-feature playing at the Angelika on Mercer. I haven't been to a movie in a long time, and I love Jimmy Stewart. But if you'd rather see or do something else, that could be arranged."

"Hmm, Jimmy Stewart, huh? I do love 'It's a Wonderful Life,' but I was actually thinking about taking in a showing of 'Foxy Brown' with a girlfriend at Film Forum. It's 'Blaxploitation, Baby Weekend' there. You know, brunch, the movie, drinks after. Letting the hair down. A girl's thing, you know."

"Oh," John said. She could hear the deflation in his voice, when he had been so sure just a second before, and her heart actually ached for him. And she wanted to spend time with him, badly. The mental gymnastics of weighing which was more important to her-a date with her best girlfriend, Shirleen, a date they'd been planning for months, or an impromptu date with the sexiest man she'd ever known, and whom had been on her mind ever since they'd spent that amazing night together-worked on her mind. She didn't want to give up either one of them.

So, she came up with an idea not to.

"Well, hey, you want to come see Foxy Brown with me? If you don't mind a guest, we could do that."

He paused. "Uhm, 'Foxy Brown?' Yeah…yeah, sure! That'd be great. We can see Jimmy Stewart the next night, if you want. I mean, if Shirleen wouldn't mind me as a guest."

"Oh, Shirleen is cool with whatever. Don't worry about that. I'll let her know. And it'd be for Friday afternoon into early evening, if you can make it."

"Yes, I can make it. Text me the time, and I'll be there. Unless you want me to pick you up."

"Actually, I wouldn't mind if you did drive. It'd be nice for a change not to be behind the wheel, chasing all over New York."

"Okay, then. Let me know, and it's a date. I look forward to it, Detective."

"Me too. See you soon, John."

She disconnected the call, just at the moment Lionel found her in the secluded spot she was in to inform her that another break in the Winslow case was coming to light. She grimaced when she realized that he'd watched her go to the space, watched her the way a hawk surveys the landscape searching for prey before spreading its wings to pounce.

Lionel was a good guy. He was her friend. But he was also too damn nosy.

##

John disconnected the call, and let out a deep sigh. So his plan to have her again would have to wait a little longer. There would be a third wheel, her friend Shirleen. That was okay, he thought. The bullshit conversation, silly 70s film and the observance of the two women in his designated driver role would certainly mean a delay—but that didn't mean an impossibility. Besides, the preliminaries could be fun. He wasn't averse to looking at Pam Grier on a screen, though perhaps she wasn't nearly as wholesome as Jimmy Stewart.

But make no mistake, the night would end with her in his arms, and him back in her bed. From the time he'd left her that morning, after a lovely home-cooked breakfast of more than just toast and coffee, the memory of their encounter hovered around his brain—and his manhood—like a fog of pleasure, the day-to-day battle against bad guys never fully diminishing its influence. He'd smell a sweet scent, hear a particular sound, see a sunflower pattern, and instantly he was back there, tasting the lusciousness of her lips, running his hands through her inky black hair. He lived and smiled by the memories of her sighs and moans, and his dreams had become awash in her image. Her image on a bed, on her back or straddling him, ready for him. Waiting for him.

The memory of her total beauty and sensuality aroused him to near pain. It was too long not seeing her. He'd make sure Shaw paid back the favor of him covering for her a few months prior for this. Looking at his watch, he surmised that Friday afternoon was only about 46 hours away, give or take a minute. He could wait. Joss Carter was well worth it.

"Friday, Detective," he said aloud, while slowly walking to the large library window and leaning on his forearm to peer out at the teeming New York traffic below. "All roads lead to Friday—and you."

 **A/N: Date night, John Reese style. The tale continues in the next chapter and beyond. Thanks for hanging in, and stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: A slight change in plans. But that's a good thing. Things continue to move along. Again, enjoy!**

She must have changed her outfit three times before finally settling on a light-fabric light blue mini sundress, without sleeves, that was luminous when she walked while still showing off her generous curves and slim legs. The three-inch black leather pumps also did their magic in bringing out her gams, and after the application of her makeup, and the release of curlers from her hair, with a tease, Joss shook her head and deemed herself ready. She had to admit to herself she looked good for a woman who chased perps all day and night, and who had to work out twice as hard to not let the pounds sink in after too much coffee, donuts, and Chinese takeout at her desk. It was nice to be able to let her hair down this way for a change. She had to make a point of doing it more often.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Giving herself one more once-over, Joss headed downstairs. Taylor was with his dad for the weekend, and although she would miss having a weekend for herself and her son, she was glad he got that chance to be with Paul, after such a messy divorce as the two of them had. And truthfully, she was glad to have a little quiet time for herself, not that, now that her boy was a teen he was as boisterous as he had been at seven. Still, no basketball on TV or him blasting his music upstairs was also a welcome treat.

Joss opened the door to find John standing there, and she had to do a double take. He was dressed in dark blue slacks that fit his muscular thighs and legs perfectly. Gone was the black suitcoat and the white dress shirt. In their places he wore a blue Cuban shirt and a black leather jacket, unzipped, also fitting him perfectly. He was lucky that he was big and tall, but also that he was height and weight proportionate. The few times she'd seen him out of his work uniform, everything had always looked good on him. This moment was no exception.

"Hi," he said upon seeing her. She could tell that his eyes were studying her in outfit, his expression one of barely restrained desire and teasing mirth. "You look…fabulous, Joss."

"You're not so bad yourself, John. Come on in. Just let me get my purse and a light sweater and we can be on our way. Would you like something while you wait?"

"No. I'm fine. But thank you."

"Okay. Be right back."

He watched her bounce up the stairwell at the foot of the door and the need hit him instantly, like a jolt of lightning. Her ass was luscious and full, while her hair was curled beautifully down her shoulders and back, and the skin of her legs was glowing and soft. Her hair bounced as she did, her figure a study in voluptuousness. What a fine woman she was. How on earth did she think she could hide all that under those suits?

He waited patiently, though just barely, for her to come back down with her purse and sweater. The front view he got as she did so was just as pleasant as the back. Her well-toned legs and thighs worked in concert with her swaying hips and bouncing breasts to complete a picture of sexual desirability that could never be denied. And deny it he would not. Never would he do that, even if his body would let him. Her cheekbones were swept with just a hint of blush, and her lips were dewy moist with a light berry gloss. His mouth watered to kiss her. His chest beat to feel those lips against it. And his manhood…

He cleared his throat and swallowed with difficulty. "Um, ready to go?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. I'll just lock up and set the alarm system."

When she finally reached the bottom, she stopped and paused, with a warm smile, as if she'd just had an epiphany. "Mmmm, John, you smell nice."

He couldn't stop the blush spreading across his cheeks. "Why, thank you, Detective. So do you. What is that, by the way? Green tea and lime?"

"Yes, you have a good nose. It's my body lotion. No need for perfume."

"No. No need. It's wonderful."

Now it was her turn to blush. She looked demurely down at her shoes, her fulsome hair beginning to blow a few strands in the gentle, warm breeze of the afternoon. "Thank you. Yours too," she said.

"So, 'Foxy Brown' it is. After you, Carter."

##

Once in the spacious Town Car, Joss finally allowed herself to notice that the butterflies in her stomach had been turning it into one giant knot of nervousness. She inwardly chided herself. _Come on, Joss. This is John here. It's not like you don't know him, in more ways than one. Get a grip, girl._ Yes, she did know him, and in more ways than one. But this was like, official, almost. Wasn't it? Even if Shirleen was tagging along, she was still going out with John for something that was not a work-related occurrence. They were, for all intents and purposes, on a date. A real, live date.

And what a date he was. He did smell nice. But he also looked damn fine, too. On a scale of men, she always knew John to be a good-looking, handsome man with his own brand of weirdo-vigilante swagger. He could have been a total pig, as she'd known other men in the military with those attributes who were nothing but, believing their GI Joe bullshit was enough to charm the pants off any woman. The fact that she was Army just like they were never factored into their smart equation. No, they tried it on her too, and she just shooed them all away, total scrubs that they were.

But John Reese was different. Yes, he had the military hard wiring more than some, but all the same there still beat the heart of a real man. A good man, just as she'd Donnelly that night they'd been caught in trying to thwart the FBI. She knew he would never hurt her, that he'd always have her back. It had been something of a relief to know he was in her corner, was looking out for her-even if his methods were still often too unorthodox for her liking.

And after that night they'd spent together, she knew another side of him now. A sensual, sexy, erotic side, a side she had always guessed was there deep down, perhaps, but one she'd never realized she'd meet up close and personal. And there, in the cool and roomy safety of the Town Car, she took stock of him out of his normal attire. He was lean and male and dashing, a dangling silver chain around his neck, open-shirted at the collar. His hair was in its usual state, which was always gorgeous, and if she hadn't been mistaken, he looked as if he'd been out in the sun, his skin a slightly burnished tan. It brought out the green-silver of his eyes, and his smile was simply dazzling.

She must have been staring hard, because he turned to her once he got belted up and the engine running. "Everything okay?" he asked, his eyes widening in puzzlement.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, everything's fine, John. I just—" she was interrupted by the buzz of her phone. "Oh, no, please, please don't be work! They've got other homicide cops in New York City besides me!" she said with a panicked, impatient huff.

But it was not the 8th Precinct. It was actually Shirleen, calling to tell her that she wouldn't be able to make their movie date, as her son had suddenly taken ill and was throwing up all over the place. She didn't feel right leaving him with a sitter, so she apologized profusely and asked for a raincheck date as soon as possible.

Joss could hear, Henry, her little boy, crying in the background. Knowing all too well how quickly little boys can get sick, Joss told her she understood and that it was okay. She also passed her love on to Henry before hanging up.

"Something wrong, Joss? Is Shirleen all right?" John asked, concerned.

"No. Shirleen can't make it tonight. Her son is sick with a tummy bug. I heard him crying in the background, poor thing. I guess that just leaves the two of us, then," she sighed.

"Well, that's okay with me if it's okay for you, Carter. You still want to go to the movie?"

"You still want to go out with me?" Joss asked.

"Are you kidding? Of course I do. I'm the one who asked you out, remember? And why put that beautiful dress to waste? Not on your life."

"All right, John. If you're up for it, let's go to the movies."

"I absolutely am, Carter. I absolutely am."

Fate was his friend sometimes. Not always in his life, for sure, but sometimes. Giving the sky above a covert wink, John started up the ignition and they were on their way.

##

They had decided to skip the Q&A after the film and head straight for dinner. By the time the film had finished screening, it was early evening, and the late spring afternoon had begun to take on the transition to night. Other patrons had the same idea, quite a few, in fact, so it was necessary for Joss to slip her hand lightly under John's arm as they made their way, so as not to lose track of him. The tingle of her touch shot throughout his body like a firework, but he had little time to respond to it as it might have liked to. The crowd was considerable, and the first order of business was to get through it.

Once clear, she excused herself for the ladies room while he waited in the foyer. There, at the concession stand, he spotted a vendor selling tee-shirts for the event, yellow baby tees with Pam Grier in her alter ego emblazoned all over them. He smiled. Having a rather sound idea what size she was, he went over to the counter and purchased one for her, just like that, spur of the moment.

When she came back out, they met up again.

"Hey, are you really hungry?" he asked quietly.

"Actually, yes, I am. Does that mean something?"

"There's a nice French restaurant further up Varick, just a couple blocks. Generous portions. That okay? Or we could just go to Five Guys," he said with a smile. His startling green-sliver eyes never left her face as he spoke to her.

"Well, Five Guys is too noisy. This is my weekend off. I want to relax. How is this French place?"

"It's great. Delicious cuisine, generous plates, as I said, good wine. Nice ambience. I think you'd like it."

"Oh, really? So who else have you been there with?" she asked, a cocked eyebrow for his trouble. The idea that he'd had a date there with some other woman rankled her for some reason. It was a foolish feeling, but it was there nonetheless.

"No one in particular," he said, shrugging. "Finch and I have grabbed lunch and a cocktail there, after a particularly harrowing number or two. It really is great."

I'm sold, let's go." She grabbed his arm, which ended up becoming his hand, and they walked out of the theatre together towards Le Muse, the French restaurant with the great ambience. The air was ripe with possibilities. The air was ripe for magic.

 **A/N: Lucky break that Joss' friend Shirleen couldn't make it, I'd say. We'll see how the rest of the evening plays out soon. Thanks, guys—and be well. Stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Date night continues here and further into the next installment. Enjoy!**

Their time at _Le Muse_ was like a dream. After a glass of wine for each, their dinner was served, and just as John had said, the plates were generous. It wasn't often that she was able to sit down to a fancy meal like this, and for the chance she was eternally grateful. She said as much to John repeatedly, to which he waved her off and said only that she deserved it.

It was a casual yet exquisite affair for Joss, who was used to eating her dinner out of a cardboard box, faced with a night of paperwork and the possibility of a stakeout call before the paperwork got done. Thanks to John, there were real plates, real silverware, and real wine glasses to drink real wine from. And she took full advantage of the occasion, availing herself of several small plates of bite-sized bread and cheese before their main courses were served. The restaurant was more of a quasi-buffet style arrangement, where they could order and reorder to their appetites' content—but it was still order driven and brought to their tables by the friendly waitstaff. They also continued to fill Joss' glass as she requested, but once she hit glass number three, she decided she'd better take it a little more slowly and have a little ice water instead.

"Oh, come on," he teased. "Hey, I'm driving, remember? And this is for you, your night out. Enjoy yourself, Detective." He ended his comment with a smirk, his eyes—intense, unwavering—fixed on her.

"Stop it," she replied.

"Stop what?"

"Stop calling me 'Detective.' At least for tonight. My name is Jocelyn. Or Joss for short. You know that. So say that, okay?"

John laughed softly and ran a hand across his cheeks while glancing down slowly at his plate. If she hadn't been sure, she'd say he was blushing. His eyes twinkled in mirth as he continued to fix them upon her.

"Okay, Joss. Not a problem."

"Good. That's settled. How are your potatoes?"

"Mmm, very nice. Delicious, in fact. Would you like some, Joss? Couldn't help noticing that you've been eyeballing them since the waiter brought them to me, so if the urge is there, please, help yourself," he said, motioning his plate in invitation.

She had indeed been eyeing the roasted spuds, still in the skin, drenched in butter. As rough as they could be for a girl's waistline, potatoes were one of her favorites. Drenched in butter even more so. She took him up on it. He pushed his plate over. And for some reason, the act of eating his potatoes in this nice little French restaurant near Mercer Street made her giddy. Life was good.

Afterwards, they ordered dessert, sharing a chocolate and vanilla mousse cake. After he tested it out for its richness, John took it upon himself to feed her the next bite. She grinned and accepted it with no strange feelings, no apprehensions. She was enjoying the attention—and he was enjoying her. She was a vision in her blue, feminine sundress and curls, and his heart beat like that of a teenager on his first date. He wondered just what his face looked like in her eyes, what she must be thinking of him—and if she knew what he was thinking about her. Did he give it all away so easily?

They stayed after dessert was done—and Joss was stuffed—about many things, work being one of them. Playing catch up after two weeks of mutual absence, Joss needled him about how he and Finch got their information, and he dodged her questions on the matter, as always. Soon, though, their chat extended to Taylor, Bear's sleeping habits, and sports. He was looking forward to catching a ballgame at Yankee Stadium, now that baseball season was in full swing.

Eventually, they departed _Le Muse_. The night was cool but comfortable, so they decided to take a walk down the streets of Lower Manhattan, and they eventually walked unto they came to the pier they had visited together as a meeting place of sorts once John escaped the clutches of Donnelly and the FBI, or so they thought. This time, however, they walked by the sparkling waters as night descended on New York, with no threats of agents or bad guys to ruin the moment. It was just the two of them, along with the stars and the crescent moon overhead. The odd ferry or water taxi passed by, but other than that, they were in their own world.

As they strolled together, mostly in silence, their arms and thighs lightly bumped one another's until John slowly reached his hand over to touch Joss's fingers. The touch, feather soft, alerted her and instinctively, she locked fingers with his. Wordlessly, they continued strolling along the pier, the cool night breeze causing her just the slightest shiver. John noticed, of course. He noticed everything about her. He could feel the tremor, the shudder against the slight kick up of wind off the water. He stopped and turned to her.

"You cold?"

"Uh, yeah, just a little. I have my sweater here. Hey, what's that in the bag? I never got a chance to ask you at supper."

John looked down and remembered the bag he held, slung to his wrist. The Pam Grier tee-shirt.

"Oh, just a little something I picked up for you. Hope you like it. In honor of tonight."

"Well, let me see. What is it? Don't keep me in suspense, John," she said, with a giggle.

John slowly pulled the bag from his wrist and opened it. She reached inside and found the Pam Grier tee-shirt there. She grinned when she opened it up and saw the silkscreen print of Foxy Brown in one of the promos from the film.

"John, I love it. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it. I figured the real-life Foxy Brown deserved her very own namesake shirt."

"I do like it. You got good taste, even if you shop at the movie concession stand."

He smiled, almost shyly, while gazing into her eyes. Their connection had gone a bit backwards, with heady sex having come before the date, but still, he felt as if this was the beginning of something. What that something was, he couldn't be sure of. Their lives were so precarious as they were lived that magic crystal balls showing images of picket fences and dogs weren't all that realistic. Yet and still, this night was precious and delicate and sweet—and he couldn't say that he'd been that happy in a long time.

But he'd asked her a question before she's asked about the shirt. He wanted to make sure she was good there. The air was getting cooler. Perhaps her sweater wouldn't do the job. Indeed, she'd shivered again.

He suddenly took off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, slightly shaking her head, the cool breeze lapping her tendrils sweetly around her face. Had she looked like this all the time he'd known her? Was she this precious all the time? Chasing around after numbers and people in trouble, having to be no-nonsense in their daily lives made considering that sweetness a small priority. Until it wasn't and he gave into some simmering passion that still took him by surprise.

She must have been. That night obviously wasn't the first time she'd bewitched him. The subconscious was mysterious place.

"Oh, John, no. No, you need your jacket. I'm okay, really."

"Nah, you wear it, Joss. I'm not cold. Plus, I have on more clothes than you do."

The memory of that night made itself spoken then. The lust, the removal of clothing, the need. It all hit at once, and the pair of them found one another's gaze. They didn't speak for several seconds. Instead they swallowed the thickness that formed in their throats and shifted feet in response to the throbbing that began softly and then loudly, soundly throughout their entire bodies. Chests rose and fell in an attempt to maintain control in a place where they could be spotted—and that would spell trouble for both of them.

It was John who broke the heated silence. "Listen, um, you know, there's a jazz club near 2nd Avenue and 5th Street. What do you say we catch a taxi out of this chill and go listen to some music."

"You're a jazz guy, John? I didn't know that."

"I like all kinds of music. I even went through a Guns n Roses phase in high school."

She laughed out loud at that. "Guns n Roses? Really? Oh, man. You were a headbanger?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. A bit of a wild boy. But the Army calmed me down,"

She slowed her laughter to a smile. "Okay, wild boy. I'd love to."

"Right on. Shall we go? We can get a lift back to the car later."

"Sounds like a plan, John. Lead the way."

He extended his arm, which she gladly took, and with her body dwarfed in the big man's leather jacket, they began the walk back down towards the main traffic thoroughfares. Before they reached the end of the stroll, however, somehow Joss' hand had slipped out of John's arm, the proximity remained. Instead, their fingers found the other one's again—and they finished the walk towards a cadre of parked taxi drivers hand-in-hand.

 **A/N: "The Morning After" might need to be retitled "The Date," haha. It's not over yet. We shall see what happens after they get to the jazz club, heheh. Thanks for your attention, and drop a line if you feel. Wellness!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: The magical evening continues for John and Joss, complete with a club visit, and an unexpected event for John.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

Once they were safely ensconced within the taxi, Joss found herself giggling. Through the dimness of the interior, John cocked an eyebrow and turned to her, smirk planted firmly on his face.

"Wine finally going to your head, Carter?" he asked softly.

She recovered herself in order to speak, but the knowing smile remained. "No, John, it's not that. It's just that we took a beautiful walk on that pier just now, a place that was the scene of such a scary moment for the both of us with Donnelly. But we did just have that beautiful stroll, in the same location. And neither one of us had any triggering flashbacks, or fears about going there. It was simply relaxed. Peaceful like. It's just funny, how life goes, you know?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right, Joss. I've been enjoying very much the company of the officer who tried to rearrest me for six months."

"And you saved my life, when it would have been easier to just let Elias finish me off."

"Perhaps. But I could never see myself doing something like that, Joss."

"Why not?"

"Because a world like this needs somebody like you in it."

"Oh."

That was all she could say, for some reason. They'd never really talked, in-depth, about what had happened that night in the alley, and why he'd felt so compelled to help her, even though, as he'd said, she'd been trying to arrest him for months, and even helped lead Mark Snow right to him. Oh sure, he'd made jokes about her "moral compass" and all that day in the diner when he extended an olive branch to her, but from there, the partnership with him and Finch just seemed to take a life of its own. No time for deep discussions where they were concerned. The winds blew and the kite flew; the only thing she could do was try as best she could to hang on for the ride.

After a pause which let the full spectrum of light and splendour that is New York into the backseat of their cab, she finally uttered yet another "thank you for saving my life" back at him, her soft, dulcet tone almost inaudible. But he'd heard it, caught it like a butterfly in the forest. Anytime she'd ever said something appreciative or complimentary in his favor he caught them, and carefully stored them on the collection shelf of his heart.

"You're welcome, Joss. And, likewise." He took her hand at that point and squeezed it firmly. Electric currents from one end of Joss' body met with ones from the other in a clash that made her breath catch in her throat and the warm heat between her thighs spring to life. When she looked over at him, wordlessly, lips slightly parted, she saw it there on his face. He had felt it, too.

The taxi driver was the one to break the spell. "Grady's Cotton Club and Blues," he announced from the front seat. They had arrived at their destination. The night was young, and pregnant with the charm of potential.

##

From her seat, Joss could see cool characters, young and old, milling about the doors of the club. She'd never been there, though she'd heard it was a low-key, unpretentious spot, where many up-and-coming jazz and blues musicians were able to find a home and an audience. She had done a bit of singing in a place similar to this when she was a law student as a means to get a little extra spending money, and as a way to set her mind on something other than the Constitution and jurisprudence. But it had only been occasionally that she'd put on her red dress and heels and took to the microphone. Perhaps she might have played there if she'd been more serious about it. She had a good voice, and the crowds she'd sung to were always complimentary. And the tips had been fabulous.

There was a cover charge, but when it came to John and Joss, there was no need to pay, or even queue up at all. With merely eye contact and hand gestures from Rick, one of the bouncers, the two of them were able to make their way to the front. John's reply was to pat Rick on the back as he and his date walked through the line and went in. A coat check girl took John's leather and Joss' sweater and tee shirt, as well as her purse and locked them up for safe keeping.

Grady's wasn't a big place. In fact, it wasn't much more than a dive, a whole-in-the-wall that if you weren't looking for it, or even if you were, you might miss. However, it was a sturdy, clean spot, with a general admission type floor space, but also with tables and chairs on the side. The walls were decked out from floor to ceiling with posters of blues, jazz, and rock n roll legends, some she'd have heard of, some who would forever be relegated to the ranks of obscurity.

At the back of the club was the bar, where patrons were already ganging up to buy their first or third rounds of drinks. At the front was the stage, highlighted by red and blue spotlights, and backdrop images of Sarah Vaughn, John Lee Hooker, Miles Davis, and funnily enough to Joss, the rapper Biz Markie. In the foreground stood a lone drum kit, a piano, three or four guitars of various makes, stacks of Marshall amplifiers, and a mike stand. The sound guy was busy at the foot of the stage, making sure everyone would be able to hear all the great music on offer. On the bill that night was a standards singer out of New Orleans named Lena Jones, and then afterwards, an R&B covers band, The Quiet Stormers, whom John had seen before, and whose specialty was old school 60s and 70s classics.

"We have a table over here, Joss," John said in her ear over Kool and the Gang music playing over the PA system. He led her to a semi-secluded table, near the stage. No sooner than they sat down, two glasses of complimentary champagne followed them. John left a tip for the barista, and he and Joss settled in.

Now, it was her turn to crook an eyebrow. "You come here a lot, John?"

He sipped his champagne before answering. "Well, not a lot. But sometimes. If it's late and I'm in the area, after wrapping a case, I come here to listen to the music. Grady's is open till four am, and there's always somebody playing. Sometimes, there are ten or fifteen people left in the audience, sometimes, I'm the only audience. But they play anyway. A good place to be."

He hadn't been looking at her when he revealed this information, instead at the crowds of people milling about the bar, and then to the walls of legends. She realized then that she had learned something new about him, something he would have never have shared with her before, in their working relationship. In fact, all of it—the film, the dinner, Grady's—was like her first real introduction to John and what he was like in all his capacity, not just as the ex-military Man in the Suit, or even the voracious lover in her bed.

"I see. It certainly looks...interesting."

"Some fabulous talent comes through here. It's great that they can have a place to play like Joe Grady's club. A good man. Old school. He's not here tonight, though. I'd introduce you if he were."

"Sounds okay to me, John," she said. "I'm glad you have a place to come to get away from it all. Saving this city from itself is tough calling. Trust me, I know."

"Yes, I'm sure you do. But you're none the worse for wear," he replied, now looking at her, his eyes giving just the faintest once-over to her lips before connecting with her eyes again.

"You aren't the only one with a special place to unwind."

"Oh? Where's yours, Detective?"

"Pam Grier at the Film Forum," she said grinning.

"Yes, that was fun, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"I'm glad you let me tag along, Joss."

"I'm glad you came along."

John smiled in response. It was that kind of wordless smile that was full of sentiments and thoughts unsaid. His gaze lingered upon her until she felt it too powerful to indulge him, and slowly turned her head to the stage, only to see a woman she believed to be Lena Jones and her band take to the stage. She welcomed the distraction as the crowd from outside and much of the crowd at the bar began to fill in space on the general admission floor, and the music from the PA stopped. Showtime was about to begin.

##

Lena Jones and her band were professionals all the way. A portly yet proportionate black woman of about seventy, and dolled up in a purple and silver sequined dress, with a white rose in her hair, she took no prisoners, and the audience loved her for it. She got the crowd to sing along to the numbers they knew, to clap their hands at the more uptempo numbers, and told personal anecdotes in between songs that the audience whooped and hollered to as she told them.

But perhaps the best skill of the night on display was her ability to scan the crowd and find someone who had the chops to sing up on stage in her place, while she took what she called a 'vocal break,' as opposed to a full out intermission. "We gotta keep this show going! Let me see who can help me out with that! Come on!" Lo and behold, in scanning the dinner table seaters, she landed her gaze on John and Joss, and from there it had been written in the stars. Lena strolled off stage, sauntered over to their table in her purple and silver sequined dress and approached the couple as they enjoyed second glasses of champagne.

"Hey, hey now! Who do we have here? Aren't they beautiful, folks?" she asked the crowd, who responded in good cheer in the affirmative. Joss, of course, was suitably embarrassed, as was John—but neither of them were unhappy about being singled out out of all the couples in the joint. Ms. Jones was a class act.

"Let me see about these two lovely people here. Ebony and Ivory, yes indeed! You look so good together. Now, looking as good as you do, do either one of you sing?" she asked, while holding the mike and smiling big.

John emphatically shook his head and held his hands up in hopelessness. However, Joss, in turn, nodded her head.

"Yeah, I used to," she said, mouthing the words.

The admission emboldened Ms. Jones to press her suit further. "Oooh, yes! Really? What songs do you sing? Come on, honey, don't be shy now," she said as she pressed the mike into Joss' face so all could hear.

"Oh, anything. Spirituals, a few standards like you do, soul. Whatever."

"What's your favorite song, honey?"

"Ah, there are too many to mention."

Ms. Jones laughed, "Well, of course there are! But maybe a better question is, what do you know the words to off the top of your head? My band can play anything."

"Ummm, I don't know...'These Foolish Things' is always a good one."

Ms. Jones eyes went wide with anticipatory joy. "Can you do that now?"

Joss looked at John, who like the rest of the club, stared at her with the same anticipatory joy as Ms. Jones was.

Joss threw up her hands in mock surrender. "Sure why not? How do I get up there?"

The crowd broke out into applause, as did John. "Come on this way, honey. This way to the stage! What's your name, sugar?"

"Joceyln. Jocelyn Carter," she answered into the mike. Before departing, she looked back at John.

"Knock em dead, kid," he mouthed to her with a wink, while pulling out her chair for her, a beam radiating from his face.

Ms. Jones took Joss by the hand and lead her up to the stage. She turned and faced the crowd, who all seemed so low and far away from her all of a sudden. There she stood, in her blue dress and curls, in the glare of the lights, and she could see more people leaving the bar to come into the crowd, wanting to see what this lady from their ranks was really able to do.

"Come on, Miss Jocelyn. Tell 'em all out there how you're feeling. Go on! Audience, give a warm hand to Ms. Jocelyn Carter!"

The audience followed suit, and all Joss could think was that this had been a mistake. She couldn't possibly do this; it had been years since she'd sang in front of anyone except for her son, when trying to get him sleep as a toddler. The tough cop, who faced bad guys and murderers for a living was scared, actually scared, in the face of all this. She could feel the butterflies wage war against one another in her belly, and the more they struck out at one another, the deeper the blows. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she was able to catch John, who had left the safety of their table to amble his way right up front. He was smiling up at her, and soon and held his champagne glass aloft in toast to her.

It was then that she knew it would be all right. She would be all right. And after Ms. Jones made the introductions of her band members and called for the proper key, the show belonged to Joss. She crossed her fingers together, cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and opened her mouth to croon the first notes. Her eyes closed to the crowd and she allowed her heart to feel in ways her head couldn't. And from there, her life would never be quite the same again.

##

"Theeeese foolish thiiiiings...remind meee...of yoooou.."

As Joss put the final spin on the Ella Fitzgerald standard, and the piano notes tinkled down to silence the crowd at Grady's Cotton Club and Blues, including Ms. Lena Jones, were enthralled. They were under her spell, marionettes led by the puppet master and her exquisite voice. John stood back completely stunned, tears smarting the sides of his eyes, until it was he who broke the spell with a shout of "Beautiful! You're beautiful, Joss!" up to his date. From there, the applause and whistles spread like wildfire. Those who had remained seated during her performance were now standing in ovation.

She took a bow, and laughed at her audience, while waving and blowing mock kisses before turning to Ms. Jones for a hug. They passed communication between one another for moment, and then Joss stepped off the stage to greet John, who was waiting for her with open arms.

"Christ, Joss...that was fantastic. I didn't know..."

She fell into the embrace and let the feel of his big man's body seep into her bones. She had been like jelly up on stage, but now she found her footing in his arms. He was her harbor, her safe place, and she let herself sink deeply into his body, his own offering strength and warmth. His aftershave, his sweat, his skin and warmth—all of them were working overtime on her senses.

"No one knew, really, except Taylor and my mom. I used to sing a long time ago, in clubs much like this. Though I've been out of practice!"

"Coulda fooled me," he said in her ear. "You should sing again. You have a beautiful, beautiful voice."

She looked up at him then, and saw the wetness still in his eyes.

"Thank you, John. Hey, never say never, you know."

At that point, after Ms. Jones thanked Joss for offering her voice to the proceedings, she and the band launched into another song, more upbeat this time, Billie Holliday's version of "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm."

"May I have this dance, Detective?" John asked.

"You think you can handle it?" she teased.

"Baby, I can handle anything you got."

She laughed heartily. "In that case, it's a date! Let's do it!"

The detective and the vigilante joined hands, and spun and slid across the floor where they could, careful not to bump into the other couples who had also decided to take a spin on the dance floor. John twirled and dipped Joss on key, and was also quite handy with a two-step.

"Great dancing, John! Who knew about _you_?"

"Just pray I don't step on your toes, Detective," he said, grinning in kind.

They danced and jumped and around without missing a beat, the spotlights from the stage having given way to the lit disco ball overhead. Their movements followed perfectly, and no stepping on toes occurred at all. Joss and John could both see the joy on one another's faces as they twirled and twisted, a joy that opened up like a flower in the presence of new sun after a long dark winter. A bigger smile on a man's face she had never witnessed before, and certainly never had on him. With his face opened up in laughter and abandon, he was simply the most beautiful man in the world.

At the end of the number, they applauded with the crowd and stopped only to turn and kiss one another. Their lips lingered for a second before John began to move slowly and gently across hers. Joss' arms found his neck and at the tickle of her fingers, he groaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the rim of her upper lip, asking for access. She granted it. She'd grant him anything at that point. Anything at all.

The next song began, a slower one again, a non-jazz tune. She recognized it as an old Rick James duet with Smokey Robinson called "Ebony Eyes." Lena Jones was full of surprises, it appeared, as she hadn't heard this one since her childhood on the playgrounds of New York City schools. The singer dedicated the tune to her and John, still dubbing them, "Ebony and Ivory." She remembered how much she'd loved this song, and as its early notes flowed from the band, she moved her body closer to John's.

As Smokey's dulcet tones were covered by Ms. Jones' bass player and backup singer, she came out strong yet smooth with the Rick James parts, and didn't bother to change the gender of the object in the song. At the line "I love you, ebony eyes of mine" John pulled Joss even closer, and he reveled in the scent of her hair and the curve of her breasts and hips against him. He smoothed her hair back with both hands and smiled at her as if in a trance, before he tucked his face into the crook of her neck for the duration of their slow drag on the club floor. The disco ball still whirred and spotted the room with light, but this time it had been slowed down to reflect the change in song.

All the couples on the floor continued to sway and swoon, each finding reason through the lead of the song to fall in love with their partners all over again, or for the first time. The dance, the music, the lyrics—all lent themselves over in creating a most enchanting experience for everyone present.

They held on to one another as if their entire world depended on it. Joss' shoes were gently elevated, and they swished off the floor in concert with John's expert slow drag rhythm. And at the point where Lena Jones bellowed out the high notes of the ballad, he lifted his head from the crook of Joss' neck and tilted his head to capture her lips once more, this time though with a stronger and more potent force than he had earlier. Their mouths and hands began the slow trek from buttersoft and light to dueling and demanding, while the band's drummer, keyboardist, and singer became louder and more urgent as the song rode its way to its conclusion.

When it was over, the two of them almost didn't notice. It wasn't until all they could hear was the sound of applause and Lena Jones' commanding voice over the microphone announcing the end of her set—as well as another round of applause for Joss' taking on singing duty, while she teased her and John for their display of affection—that they parted lips and gave each other space to breathe. But that didn't mean the heated exchange had been fully satisfying. It hadn't been. The flame was now lit. And there was only one thing that would appease its demands, lest the fire burn completely out of control.

"Hey, you wanna get outta here?" he murmured softly, yet hoarsely, his forehead resting on hers. His eyes glowed in heated silver, even in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

Nothing else was to be said. Taking her by the elbow, John turned and motioned Joss through the crowd towards the coat check. After paying the tip, and settling the drinks bill, he scooted behind and led her through the door of Grady's Cotton Club and Blues. The empty taxi that sat right out in front seemed to have been waiting just for them. Perfect.

The detective and the vigilante snuggled into each other in the cocoon of the back seat, their hearts pounding rapidly, their bodies throbbing all over with anticipation. But they held it in check. They held back the urge to reveal themselves fully and completely in the public space that was the taxi cab. But only just barely. John's fingers tickled lightly the skin at the back of Joss' neck, while a feint moan escaped her lips. He didn't look at her, instead keeping his gaze directed towards the passing throngs of people. He couldn't. If he did, he'd be lost to her. For while he tickled her neck, she pressed her thigh against his. The angle of her leg on his flesh sent shock waves throughout his entire body. She could hear his audible breathing, even through the roar of the engine and the honk of horns outside their window.

From the front of the cab, the driver called back as he merged with the New York street traffic. "Where are you headed, folks?"

She struggled to project a poise she didn't feel, as John's fingers continued on her neck. What had been an initial tickle had morphed into circle rubs and a scalp massage, his fingers sliding feather light in and under her curls. She thought she'd die—but she answered.

"Brooklyn," she said, staring straight into John's hooded silver eyes. "Crown Heights. We're going...to my place."

A/N: This story is probably going to have to change ratings in the next go. In fact, I know it will. But for now, I hope you enjoyed this latest. How about that Joss and her singing? I hear that TPH can sing well, so I thought I'd play around with that a little. John was sure impressed! Thanks to everyone who still continues to read and who keep the Careese flame alive. You rock! :-) PS: The Missing Reese chap I was working on (and nearly done with) disappeared into the computer ether somehow, so I am going to have to do that one all over again (uuuugggghhh). Sigh. Sincere apologies, as I know everyone is looking forward to that update (it _was_ a good one, while it lasted) and I'll try to get back on track with it soon. Thanks again for your patience and support! 


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: John and Joss make their way back to her brownstone in Crown Heights. And the rating for this story changes. The enchanted evening continues—and how!**

The cool, crisp air now had a tinge of foggy moisture, which gave the glowing moon overhead an ethereal glow as John and Joss made their way out of the taxi in front of her brownstone. The cab driver had been nice enough to open the door for Joss, and actually tipped his cap as John paid him generously, plus tip. It was after midnight, and the few other bodies on her street were merely those getting off buses and subways from late-evening shifts at the hospitals and nursing homes throughout the city. The working folk of New York, the regular folk, had long since been cured of their party animal impulses, so if they were out at that time of night, home and hearth was indeed their destination.

Joss was usually no exception. After stakeout and paperwork duty at the 8th, once she was finally able to drag herself away from her desk, it was all she could do to drive herself home, pick up some takeout, check on her son at her mom's house, and get home in time to eat the take out and shower before collapsing into bed. It wasn't much of a life, but she was happy enough to do it, in service to the city and her son's upbringing.

However, that night was different. She was living. Living the charmed life of a woman adored by the strong, handsome man with her. They had indeed managed to just barely keep a lid on the potent passion that threatened to consume them, and the taxi cab, for that matter. While the cab winded its way through the New York City streets, if Joss adjusted her hand on John's thigh, or if he turned his head to allow his lips an encounter with her temple, it was like electricity, and the wild need to seek more coursed through their bodies, making them gasp quietly and sigh earnestly. Joss knew that her panties were drenched by this point, and her secret heat throbbed deliciously as they walked towards her front door.

No words were spoken. She fumbled clumsily for her keys, while John, from behind, pressed his body against her, his breath quickening with each connection of his body. He lightly ran his hands and fingers up her arms and then lightly down her midriff and back up her arms again. She continued to fumble around in her purse, though concentration proved difficult with John pressing his hardness into her ass and leaving kisses on her face and neck. His arms soon circled round her and he nuzzled her temple, while the tempest raging inside him expressed itself through the rise and fall of his chest.

She closed her eyes against the sensation, and a small yet audible moan escaped her. Her lips were parted slightly with the effort of her own breathing. Her legs shifted, and yes indeed, she could feel herself juiced in her panties. A wanton feeling that gave her; it was a feeling of freedom, of letting go and letting desire rule. She smiled once she got the keys out, but that smile turned into another gasp when John reached up with one hand to push her hair out of the way for a kiss to the back of her neck where the shoulder blades met. Her breath now, too, began to leave her in short pants, and she turned herself slightly to catch him in a kiss.

It was too much for John, as the touch of her soft lips against his seemed to make him go a little crazy on her stoop. He pulled her hard against his chest, her hands and arms pinned to him, with no chance to wrap her arms around him. She had been enclosed in the prison of his body, the scent of the leather of his jacket and his cologne playing havoc on her senses. His mouth provided an almost punishing pressure against her own, his tongue darting back and forth. She moaned helplessly, and in response John grunted, the sound much like that of a man who hadn't eaten for days, and was now greedily getting his fill, lest the nourishment disappear from him.

In their ardor, Joss accidentally dropped the keys. The clatter of metal on the concrete stoop briefly brought the two of them out of their lusty haze, and John let Joss go just long enough to bend down and pick up the keys. Joss tucked a lock of her hair behind her ears as she watched him, and got some control, at least, of her breathing.

"Which one?" he asked, his voice deepened with lust. It was the first words either of them had said since they'd left Grady's.

"Umm...the one with the little piece of green tape. This one." She pointed toward the proper key.

John fidgeted with the key ring with one hand, while using the other to hold Joss and stroke her ass. In the quiet Brooklyn night, the keys tinkled in his fingers, and soon the green taped key presented itself. Sticking it into the lock, the door opened without need of a knob. John let his hand slip from her backside to catch her fingers between his, as he took the keys out. They walked inside and closed the door—and the world—behind them.

##

Joss dropped her purse and worked the lock and chain on the door, while John removed his leather jacket, having pocketed the keys, and threw it on the floor. Lamplight showed them the way through her living room. They were still mostly silent, their bodies having done more of the communication effectively than their words could. She turned to face him. And then, with only two steps to close the distance between them, he pounced on her like a lion to its prey.

She let out a low yet audible holler as he body found itself back in his arms again, his full and consuming embrace the forerunner to his repossession of her mouth. This time, though, her hands were free, and she took advantage of that fact by letting them find the nape of his neck, only to get tangled in the strands of salty pepper that fell so beautifully across his head. Their mouths dueled again, and she let her body weave in and away from his repeatedly, making contact with his raging hardness. That only emboldened John further, and with a determined groan, he reached down to abruptly clasp her ass cheeks and pull her firmly, definitively against him, grinding her pelvis in such a way that they both reacted, both began spiraling out of control.

Suddenly, he released her, running a hand through his hair, his breathing interspersed with sharp intakes. He was wild-eyed, desperate, his fragile grasp on the discipline that ordered his life most of the time slipping away in the face of such need. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in reaction to his move.

"What, John? Why'd you stop? What is it?"

He shook his head slowly. "Nothing. It's nothing, Joss. I just want you. I just want you so much. You know that, don't you? You know how much I want you?"

At his confession, something inside her broke wide open. An impulse, held back with the last vestiges of fear, of impropriety, was squashed and thrown away. It was now her turn to close the distance between them, and she did, wrapping her arms around him and leading him towards the sofa while kissing him. They bumped into end tables, and knocked over a lamp, but it didn't stop them. They didn't stop, in fact, until they reached her large couch. She pushed him down and back on it, and with her dress and heels still on, climbed atop his body, her fulsome ass slowly lowering to straddle his erection.

John arched his back and let the full weight of what she'd just done roll over him like a tidal wave. He sucked in a breath and swore, while his lower body instinctively rose to meet her ass as if to mount her.

But they were still fully clothed. That had to change, especially if she kept that up, or he'd make a mess in his pants. Rising up from the couch, John closed his eyes and reached under to pull her dress up and over her head. She wore a blue lace bra with matching panties and John's blood pressure rose ever higher as her breasts threatened to spill over her cups. He reached up to palm both of them, and then it was Joss' turn to arch her neck and back, and that gave John an even more tantalizing view of her creamy mocha skin. Under the fabric of the bra, he found her nipples, and the palms of his hands were now employed on the mission to drive her further crazy. He ran them lightly, repetitively across the sensitive buds, and that, in conjunction with the fabric made her cry out and put two fingers to her bottom lip.

"Ohmmm," she moaned. "Ohmmm, John, baby..."

"Good woman," he purred, while continuing to sweetly torment her with his palms.

"Mmmm," she smiled, with her eyes closed. "I am if that's what you think."

"It's not what I think. It's what you are. So good, in every way," he murmured thickly.

"Funny..but I don't feel like being good right about now. Ohhhh, shit...ohh..."

Her voice was like honey to his ears. This. This was what he'd wanted to hear again. The strong and capable cop was a pussy cat when she was in love, when she was being loved. And he was absolutely thrilled that he could bring that out of her.

His eyes were pink and wet with a heady mixture of desire and mischief brought on by the wine and champagne he'd enjoyed throughout the evening. He found his fingers had slipped under the fabric, and were then gently pinching her now pebble-hard nipples. His view was hooded as he watched her react, her head slowly tossed back with an arch of her neck and a breathless gasp in response. She rocked her hips further against his erection, and it pulsed and jumped in agony, the pressure throbbing against the strain of his underwear. It begged him for freedom, for release to find her and mate with her. He had no choice but to heed its demands.

Lowering his hands from her breasts to catch her midriff, John flipped Joss back onto the sofa. Her momentary mewl of protest was silenced once she realized why he'd released her. He'd had on far too many clothes. She smiled as he managed to pull the navy blue button down over his head without actually undoing the buttons. The chain he sported around his neck dangled against the valley between his defined pectoral muscles. He had a gorgeous upper body, strong and sure. There was no doubt at all of that.

He moved to his belt, but Joss stopped him. She wanted that privilege. And inching her body up seductively, she got it. Soon, he had done her one better, removing all of his clothing, including his socks and shoes. At the same point, Joss removed her own shoes.

The occurrence of a naked man in her living room gave her a momentary pause, but her son was safely asleep at his father's house, so there was so reason why John couldn't be there as he was. And she was determined, now that he was there as he was, to enjoy him, love him just as they were. This was their night.

Now completely naked, John knelt in front of her on the carpet, turning her lower body outwards and towards him. Her mound faced his chest. He slowly peeled her panties off and parted her thighs, her full and gorgeous lips inviting him in for a taste. Lifting her, he lowered his head and gently latched onto one, then the other, then slid his tongue up, down and around before finding her bud of heat.

"Ahhhhhhh...uhhhhh..." she gasped. Her back arched against the pillows, while her toned thighs opened wider in undulation. Pulling up her legs, she reached out to grasp his head, the dark and grey strands sliding between her fingers. His tongue continued to lap around her, and soon, she could feel light tugs and quiet sucking sounds as he continued teasing her lips and clit.

Joss' hair mussed and whipped about her head as her body began to spin out of control. As her moans got louder, and her gasps more frequent, John dove even deeper, his tongue slipping inside her. He sped up his attentions, his own rapid breathing mingling with her own, while his teeth joined in, lightly nipping at her inner lips as he sucked.

"Ohhhhhmmmm...ah! Oh, damn...I'm gonna cuumm..." she hummed aloud moments later. Her body writhed and twisted against his mouth, and John's hands slowly joined his arms to hold her in place as he continued. She was able to lift her head and watched him for just a moment before collapsing back against the pillows, giving herself up to the sensations he elicited. The fullness of his hair, the flexing of his jaw muscles, his closed eyes—all of them worked with his mouth to produce the delicious sensations that soon indeed sent her body into the bliss of a stunning orgasm. Her body jerked forward when the blast hit her, spreading radiant heat all over her body.

"OH! Oh...oh...oh...oh...yesssss..ahhhh..." Her hips raised and undulated faster, John's grip unable to hold her against the contractions of her private self. He continued to use his mouth, though, now turning his licks and nips into kisses.

Soon, he lifted his head and trailed a line of wet kisses over her taut belly, up to her breasts, which were still covered by her bra. His fingers slid under the fabric again, pressing her globes together, massaging them with full palms while his fingers found her nipples again. The flesh pressed and strained against his hands, while the fabric threatened to tear. She pulled his head toward her mouth for a fragrant kiss.

"Yes," John whispered between darting kisses, "taste how delicious you are when you cum. So good..."

She did, the musky flavor of her body mixed with the lingering traces of champagne from the club. She moaned as her heat throbbed again in desire, and she entwined her legs and thighs around his waist.

They writhed and twisted their bodies against each others', around each others'. They were out of control, unable to get enough of the electric heat they brought to one another. That had to be reckoned with. And soon, it would be.

John tucked his head into the crook of her neck and wrapped a full arm around Joss' body. With a groan, he slid her off the couch onto the soft carpet. Once he had her on her back, he spread her thighs wide again, and guided himself inside her. Joss' response was to whimper, while sucking in a breath between her teeth.

"Ah, yeah..." John purred. "I can feel you. Can feel how warm and wet you are...and so tight...yes, so tight...do I feel good to you, Joss? Hmm?"

"Yes...yes, John...but harder...please..." she begged. Her voice was soft and quiet. Her hair was splayed on the carpet, and her full lips were parted in anticipation.

John needed further no further convincing. His large upper body looming over like a snake, he pressed his manhood deeper, more forcefully, his pelvis connecting with her clit. Soon, he not only thrust deeply, but sped it up, the two actions giving Joss no choice but to voice her pleasure through hot, guttural moans. She dug her fingers into his back, leaving imprints in his skin while her chants and moans grew more forceful and wild. John pressed her thighs back further, and had just enough sense left to reach up and pull a sofa cushion off to tuck it under her ass. The change in angle, ever slight, made it so that he hit her walls at another—deeper—angle.

"John! OH! OH! Baby, please..."

"What do you want, Joss? I'd give you anything," he asked breathlessly, his own release soon on the horizon.

"Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me..." she repeated, her voice a slightly higher pitch, as if she was helpless to what her body responded to.

"You are so beautiful. My God, you're beautiful..." he responded. His body slapped into hers, her flesh vibrating with every thrust. The floor, wooden in construction, creaked beneath them.

He continued to fuck her, gritting his teeth and grunting in response to her moans. Their bodies, now slick with sweat, joined and re-joined, over and over. They clung to each other in passion, in desperation, as the two of them hurtled toward a height they couldn't have imagined the first time they made love.

John could feel himself reaching his limit, and with the reflex of a well-honed athlete, he quickly tipped over the coffee table, the contents atop it scattering across the floor before flipping himself onto his back, with her straddling him again.

"Sit, honey," he whispered with a lopsided smile. "Guide me into you again."

She did so, her tongue running across her lips before tucking her lower one over her teeth. With a light grin, Joss sighed when his dick found home again. Soon, their rhythm returned, and it was John's turn to gasp, the full hilt of his need buried deep within her. Within minutes, they slapped and rode each other, Joss murmuring lusty sweet nothings to her man. She pressed her palms into his chest, leaning over to kiss him, and when she slid her tongue into his mouth, that sent him over the edge. His climax shot through his body, and he half yelled, half groaned his release, his hands frantically grasping at her breasts, then her hair. The long column of his neck worked to take in air, and he bared his teeth as the shock wave of orgasm passed through him.

"Oh, baby...my baby..." he panted. "So beautiful...so beautiful..."

Joss laid her body atop his as both of them caught their breaths. John held her closely, lovingly, while gently running his fingers through her hair. He turned his head to kiss her, and they both, even though still breathless, smiled beaming, fulfilled smiles. Smiles of contentment. Smiles of love.

##

"Best crackers and cheese I've ever eaten. My compliments to the server," John said with a smirk.

"I aim to please, John," Joss replied as she refilled his glass with red wine.

"I mean it. Thank you. For this. For all of it."

"What did I do? You paid for the date tonight."

"You know what you did, Joss. And it's been wonderful. Every last minute."

"Well, that doesn't have to cost anything, John."

"Doesn't it, though? If we aren't...careful?"

Joss raised an eyebrow as she scuttled up in his lap. They had decided to camp out on the carpet where they'd made love, the sofa cushions and throws their makeshift sleeping area. She had also lit a few candles in the darkness, and they were now sipping more wine, along with a snack of crackers, cheese, and apple slices. John sat against the now stripped sofa, making a cave of his body for her tiny frame.

"Is that what the last two weeks have been about? This would cost you, and so therefore you stayed away?"

John paused before he spoke. "I don't know. Maybe. You didn't call me either, you know. I could ask you the same thing."

"Touche," she replied.

They dropped into silence again. John swished the wine in his glass.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry...sorry I didn't call you. I wanted to. I wanted this. Again."

"It's okay, John. You got around to it. That's what matters."

"This isn't easy for me," he said. "I've never been good with...romantic things, you know. But for some reason, with you, it's...easy. It's right and it feels good."

She grinned. "Just good?"

He hummed in humor and nuzzled her temple. "Better than good. Fantastic. Amazing."

"That's better," she giggled back. "Well, this isn't easy for me either, you know. Divorced mother of a teenager who works in a job that I never know I'll come home from each day. Doesn't make for seeing my life in the far beyond in that way."

"I'd never let anything happen to you. You know that," he said, now running his fingers through her hair and nuzzling her again.

"You can try. But there are no guarantees, John."

"So long as I breathe, that's your guarantee."

"So..."

"So?" he looked at her square then, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

"You wanna tell me about her? The one that made you so not-good-with-romantic-things?"

John laughed, but then abruptly stopped. His gaze went downcast, and he grew quiet again.

"Maybe. Maybe some other time. Right now, I just...want to focus on you. On us. Okay?"

"There's an 'us?'"

"If you want there to be, Joss."

She didn't answer him with words. Instead, she pulled the throw over her naked body and snuggled into the safe nook of his embrace. John put down his wine glass to wrap both his arms around her. They both stared at the shadows made by the flames on her walls. The moon still shone brightly outside the dark sky.

"John?"

"Yes, Joss?"

"If I fall asleep, make sure to put the candles out for me?"

He smiled. "Kiss me, and it's a deal."

She obliged. With relish.

 **A/N: Well, these two know how to end a date, don't they? Thanks for reading, and blessed Indigenous Peoples' Day for those who acknowledge it.**


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